


Meek (adj): enduring injury with patience and without resentment

by tillyenna



Series: NYR Punishment verse [1]
Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: BDSM, Corporal Punishment, M/M, Punishment, Violence, google translate wrote this, off screen negotiations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-04
Updated: 2020-02-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:46:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22564966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tillyenna/pseuds/tillyenna
Summary: Set immediately after the Rangers Vs Stars @MSG 02.04.20Mika has screwed up more than once in the past few games, he knows he needs punishment - and on the rangers, there's one man who's in charge of dealing out the punishments. As soon as the game ends, he turns himself over to Henke for what he feels he deserves.
Relationships: Henrik Lundqvist/Mika Zibanejad
Series: NYR Punishment verse [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1654312
Comments: 7
Kudos: 53





	Meek (adj): enduring injury with patience and without resentment

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: This fic includes someone being spanked with a hockey stick. It's not pleasant. It's probably not particularly safe, but it is in this story. If that is not your thing. Please don't read it.
> 
> Unbeta'd. Not really thought through. I don't speak swedish, I exclusively used google translate for that stuff.
> 
> Sooooo, Miks screwed up in the rangers game, plus he gave Krieds a pretty serious knock to the head in the previous game. His post game interview looked like he hated himself. Henke's post game interview looked like he hated everyone else. Then the next day Miks didn't make practice because of "flu"... and my mind ran away with me.
> 
> This is terrible. But eh.
> 
> Also, all violence is negotiated off screen. You can assume for the purposes of this fic that everyone in the room has consented to be there and has consented to what is happening to them and around them. Yes, consent should be checked every time. This is not a BDSM how to, it is a terribly written work of fiction. Thanks :D

WARNING: This fic contains someone being spanked with a hockey stick. Please turn back if that is not for you.

The second the media are out of the locker room Miks crosses over to Henrik’s stall, falling, clumsily and far too heavily to his knees.

“Jag är ledsen,” he says softly, but definitely audibly, he gazes up under his eyelashes, but Henrik won’t even look at him, and fuck he can’t remember when he last made him this angry.

“Get up and shower,” Henrik’s voice is flat, and it’s testament to how angry he is that he’s speaking english. “You stink and I don’t want to fucking deal with you like this.”

Mika nods, and clambers clumsily to his feet, stripping off his under armour as quickly as he can and heading to the showers. He showers quickly and efficiently, not wanting to anger the goalie any further by taking his time. 

When he comes out, towel around his waist, Henrik is deep in conversation with Staalsy, their heads bowed so close together they’re touching, voices barely above a murmur. He kneels again by Henke’s stall, taking his time this time, his body aching and sore. He watches as Marc runs a hand through his own hair nervously, before reaching out to run a soft hand across Henrik’s jaw - he’s glad, in a way, that Henke has Marc to help him through this, that Henke has Marc to keep them grounded, because it’s Henke that keeps the rest of them grounded.

When Henrik eventually walks back to his stall, he sits down, hand carding through his hair. Eventually, he turns his attention down to Miks, a questioning eyebrow raised.

“Snälla….” Mika begins, before Henrik cuts him off.

“Don’t you fucking dare.” He hisses down at him, “It’s bad enough you’re a disgrace to this team, I don’t want to have to remember what a disgrace to our country you are as well.”

Miks swallows, “Sorry Henrik”, he says, this time in English.

“Tell me what you are sorry for.” Henrik’s staring down at him, that beautiful face turned to steel with disappointment.

“I’m sorry I got a stupid penalty, I’m sorry I meant the team were two men down, I’m sorry I didn’t score enough goals, I’m sorry for how I played.”

Henrik scoffed, “Is that really all you have to apologise for?”

Mika frowns up at him in confusion, trying to gather his thoughts as to what else he’d done wrong that game.

“Hey Krieds,” Henrik called across the locker room, “Anything you think Mika should apologise for?”

At that, before he can stop it, Mika lets out a sob, tears starting to well in the corner of his eyes, he can’t glance over his shoulder, he can’t look at Chris, only up at Henrik, “I’m sorry,” he repeats, a whisper this time.

“Tell me what you deserve.”

“Punishment.” Miks nods, tears starting to flow freely down his face, “Henrik I deserve whatever punishment you think I should have.”

Henrik nods, gravely serious, reaching down to cup Miks chin in his hand, before answering. “Ten.”

Mika nods again, blindly accepting whatever Henrik offers him.

“With the stick.” The netminder finishes. There’s a quiet hush across the locker room. Usual rules mean you can half your punishment by agreeing to have it dealt with your stick instead of the palm of Henrik’s hand - but this leaves no such room for bargains to be made. It’s rare any of them get that many with the stick, four or five, maybe six after a terrible game, still, they all trust Henrik with this, in the same way they trust him with everything. If he has decided this is what Miks needs, then this is what he needs.

By the time Miks has climbed to his feet, and gone to retrieve his stick, Henrik is standing again, hair dry, standing just in his slacks, towel slung around his neck, bare feet on the carpet. It should make him look relaxed, casual - it doesn’t. Usually, the kind of power Henrik exudes, simply by existing, Miks can tune out, you get used to it after a while - the feeling that whatever room you are in, Henrik is the most powerful man in it, but right now, with the full force of that turned on him, he feels it acutely - Henrik could do whatever he wanted to him right now, and not a man in that room would stop him. He hands his stick over to the goalie, having quickly stripped the tape off - learning from the experience of his teammates on that one.

Henrik takes the proffered stick, turning it over in his hand, feeling the weight of it. Everyone has their own individual sticks, and to get the swing wrong could seriously injure his teammate, so he needs to feel how heavy it is, how it swings in his hand. He runs a smooth flat hand across the heel and toe, checking for any nicks or sharp points. Satisfied with what he finds, he turns back to his fellow Swede. “Turn around, towel off, hands against the back of the stall.”

Miks nods, his tears have stopped, but the look of exhaustion and fear on his face hasn’t. He quickly removes the towel, feeling more ashamed than he should - his teammates have seen him in the nude multiple times, but this is vulnerability at its sharpest. He turns to face the wall, taking in a deep breath, before he bends over - hands bracing at shoulder width apart, head down, staring at the bench.

Henrik moves forwards, and with a toe, slides his stance further apart, “I don’t want you to fall over.” He says sternly, and then with a soft hand smoothing across Mika’s lower back, “Are you ready for this?”

Mika lets in a shuddery breath, and nods.

“Count for me.” Henrik instructs, before taking half a step back.

Miks tries not to anticipate it, it’s impossible not to, but it hurts more if you tense in anticipation, it’s easier to just relax and let it happen, and yet still, with the first one, it just isn’t possible. It hurts more than he remembers, it always fucking hurts more than he remembers. The sound of the carbon fibre hitting his skin, the smack it makes echoing around the silent locker room, the hurt whimper he lets out when it hits him, everything is a thousand times louder than he wants it. Still, there’s an impatient pause, before he remembers himself, “One, sorry Sir.” He manages to cough out through his tears.

Henrik sighs audibly, “It’s not me I want you to apologise to.” He shifts his stance slightly, “Let’s try again.”

The second blow hits his other buttock, but he’s readier for it, his body remembering what to expect, and he manages to choke out “Two, sorry team.” 

The third and fourth blows land exactly where the first and second did. They sting, but he’s breathing through the pain and manages to gasp the numbers and an apology. There’s briefly a hand smoothing over his buttocks, and he knows Henrik is pleased with how he’s taken those two.

The fifth blow lands not on his buttock but on the crease where cheek meets thigh, and Mika screams before gasping out “Five, sorry team.” Henrik gives him a moment to catch his breath through his sobs, but he knows where the next one will land, Lundqvist has a strange obsession with ‘keeping you even’ so the next one will appear in exactly the same place, but on the other side, and it’s going to hurt just as bad. By the time the seventh and eighth blows lands Mika is gasping and sobbing with no hope of getting it under control. Henrik takes a break, his hand running up and down Mika’s back, his voice gentler than it has been all evening, “I think you’ve apologised to the team enough, but I’ve got another two to give you - I think you know who deserves one of them.”

Mika nods, sobs wracking through his body, chest heaving up and down as he tries to get his breathing under control. He feels Henrik step back, and feels his body tense, these are going to seriously hurt, but he knows deep down he deserves it. He can’t hear the whistle of the stick over the sound of his own sobs, so it comes as a complete shock, “Nine, fuck, nine, fuck Krieds I’m so fucking sorry,” he stammers out, feeling the tears rolling freely down his face. The final blow is always harder, and it knocks the breath out of him before he manages to stammer out, “Tio ledsen Henke, ledsen.”

“Hey,” Henrik is pulling him up, and sliding his hand into Mika’s hair, pulling him into his arms, forcing his head down onto his shoulder, free hand rubbing up and down his back, “Hey hey, jag har dig, jag har.” He’s whispering into Miks ear, and then he turns, “Jesper, grab me some cream.”

As Fast goes to do as he’s told, Miks drags his gaze to meet Henke’s, “Can I go and say sorry to Krieds.”

Henrik nods, and with that Mika is across the room, throwing himself into Chris’ arms, “Krieds I’m so fucking sorry,”

“Hey,” Chris is tipping his head back, running his hands through Mika’s crazy mop of hair, “We’re good Miks,” and then his mouth is on his teammates, his tongue slipping into his mouth and the kiss is filled with forgiveness and love.

Krieder presses their foreheads together, before gently steering him back towards Henrik, who is waiting with a soothing balm to rub over his skin. 

“I’m so sorry,” Miks gasps as he’s folded back into Henrik’s arms.

“Hush now,” Henrik’s voice is soft and loving, “Nothing to be sorry for now, you’ve done your punishment, we’ve all forgiven you.” He tugs on Mika’s mop of hair, forcing him to meet his gaze, “You are forgiven.”

At that, Mika’s sobs start again, different this time, crying through relief, burying his face into the juncture where Henrik’s neck meets his shoulder and sobbing.

For a minute, they stand there, Henrik murmuring softly in swedish in Mika’s ear, until he can feel his breathing slow again, the sobs lessen, the tears slowing. “Let’s get this cream on you, and then I’m taking you home.”

Mika nods, he knows he goes home with Henrik tonight. Those are the rules, if you’re punished, you will go home with him. He’s grateful, when he just gets to follow Henrik’s gentle instructions on getting dressed, following him out of the garden, and following him back to his house. By the time they get there, he’s exhausted, but Henrik forces him to eat, before dressing him in a comfy pair of sweats, and bundling him into bed.

“I’ll do better tomorrow,” Mika mutters, letting Henrik pull him into his arms so he’s lying half on his chest.

“I know you will,” Henrik presses a kiss to the top of his head, “I know you will.”


End file.
